


fuck it. iwaoi knee injury fic

by Christiiiiine



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Oikawa Tooru's Knee Injury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, from someone with zero medical knowledge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 15:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christiiiiine/pseuds/Christiiiiine
Summary: My friend bribed me because I haven't actually written anything in like a year so take this piece of garbage
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	fuck it. iwaoi knee injury fic

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. I know it's bad, I'm just proud of myself for being able to write anything. Enjoy I guess. Kudos and comments would make my day, no pressure.

His form this time had been fine. The jump up had been fine, the serve had been fine. It was the landing where things had gone wrong, horribly wrong, once again. And, once again, Tooru Oikawa was on the floor of another, different volleyball court, clutching his knee in a country where no one really knew him as anything other than That Club Atlético Setter From Japan. 

There was no irony in this. 

In his life, very few people had known him as anything other than a setter. He preferred it that way, to be honest. All he’d ever needed was Iwaizumi. At least, until he’d finally come to accept the fact that Iwaizumi had never really needed him. Not in the way he had needed Iwaizumi, to remind him to do stupid things like eat and sleep and hydrate and ice his knee, to tell him he knew that most of his smiles were fake and ask him why he was still dating that girl when he so clearly looked terrified at the thought of kissing her. 

Three years later, their weekly phone calls had dwindled to monthly at best. Iwaizumi was thriving. His Iwa-chan had a job as an athletic trainer halfway across the world, and Oikawa was back on the floor with a busted knee and his best friend wasn’t there to carry him into the ER. He laughed to himself, shaking off the idea of calling Iwaizumi. What could he do from Japan? Shake his head and yell at him that it had been his idea to fuck off to Brazil, and he would be right. 

Oikawa breathed in through his nose, trying not to move too suddenly in fear of jostling his knee, now pulsing with waves of pain that made him nauseous. 

Okay. 

He just needed to get to his phone. His phone, which was in his bag, across the court, which he needed to get to so he could call--

So he could call Shoyo. 

He picked himself up onto his elbows, tucked his good knee under him, and pushed. 

He fell right back down into the sand, face first. 

“This is fine,” he told himself through gritted teeth. “You’re fine. Get to the fucking phone, you worthless peice of shit…” He groaned in pain and rolled over onto his back, staring up into the cloudless sky until his vision became blurred with tears. It must have been ten minutes before he felt someone approach. 

“Oikawa-san?” He heard Hinata’s voice from somewhere behind him. 

“Sho-chan,” he answered breathlessly, relieved, “My knee.” He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t have to see Hinata’s face to know exactly what his expression looked like. 

Not long ago, Shoyo Hinata would have panicked in a situation like this, but his time spent with Tooru had mellowed him out a little.

_“Listen, Shorty,” Oikawa had once said, ignoring his offended protests. “Only one of us can be the dramatic friend. You and I are our own team over here, yeah? You can’t go pro if you’re gonna freak out over every little thing.”_

“Okay,” Hinata said now, bringing Oikawa back to the present. He turned to Heitor. “I am going to borrow your car and drive Oikawa-san to the hospital.” Heitor, eyes wide and clearly panicking, could do little more than nod and scamper off.

“Quite the pair you make,” Oikawa joked. 

“Just let me get you to a hospital, dude.”

***

The ride there was hazy. The pain in Oikawa’s knee made his vision swim a little. He missed Iwa-Chan.

“I can call Iwaizumi-san when we get to the hospital, if you like,” Hinata said. _Shit,_ Oikawa had thought out loud. By some grace of higher power, they managed to pull up to the hospital before he’d gotten the chance to think about his answer too much.

“Don’t worry him, Sho-chan. Besides, what’s he gonna do? Drop everything and hop on a plane to fly halfway across the world because I hurt my knee a little?” Hinata bit his lip like he wanted to respond, but instead he got out of the car to help Oikawa into the ER. 

“Wait here,” he said, getting him settled into a chair somewhere in between a woman bleeding concerningly profusely and a man nursing a rather nasty-looking burn. He nodded politely at both. They both glared. 

Jesus Christ.

A few feet away, he heard someone call his voice, heavily accented. He winced as the woman at the desk butchered his family name. Hinata rejoined him as they prepared a wheelchair to take him… somewhere. 

“From what I gather,” Hinata explained carefully, “Because you’re an important member of the club team, they’re gonna see if they can get you in sooner. I can call your coach if you like.” Oikawa breathed through his nose.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Everything is fine. It’s just a sprain; I’ll be able to tell him myself in a few hours.” It was not a sprain. He’d felt something snap this time. This was worse. Worse, even, then the first injury his knee had ever sustained. It had been a dislocation, and Iwaizumi had carried him to the car to go to the hospital. He’d been back on the court in a little over a month, but the knee had never been quite the same. The muscles around it were always spasming and aching. He had known it had been injured beyond the dislocation, the tendons or the cartilage or something-or-other continually strained from overworking kept getting worse and worse until the fall he’d taken an hour ago was nothing more than the straw that broke the camel’s back, even if it was a completely separate part of the same knee. 

A torn ACL. He could have guessed that. It was a long time coming.

It would be a long time recovering, too. He would need PT and surgery and several months of recovery time, the doctor gently explained. After weeks and months and years of dealing with his stupid fucking knee, it’s his ligament, not his bones or his cartilage or his muscle that had plagued him for so long, that finally took him out. For _seven months._

His eyes refocused as he realized the doctor was waiting for him to answer something.

“Sorry, what?” he asked in his best Portugese. 

“I was wondering if you would like to schedule your surgery,” she said. Oikawa massaged his eyelids with his palms. 

“Can I call tomorrow or something? I just wanna go home.” She looked at him sympathetically and nodded, handing him a sheet of paper.

“I’ll get you some crutches. Call this number tomorrow to schedule a consultation.”


End file.
